Debriefing
by KuryakinGirl
Summary: Casey was tasked a mission, and after a mission comes a debrief. Chuck versus the Subway post-ep/annoyingly, glaringly missing scene.


Disclaimer—Characters belong to Josh Schwartz and Chris Fedak. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Notes—Because, c'mon. As goddessofbirth pointed out on lj, somebody would've said something. All errors are mine.

Spoilers—Chuck versus the Subway

Debriefing—Casey was tasked a mission, and after a mission comes a debrief. Chuck versus the Subway post-ep/annoyingly, glaringly missing scene.

* * *

Chuck jumped when he heard the three heavy knocks on his door followed by a more hollow-sounding thud. His heart raced, wondering who could be coming by so late. He looked at his half-finished spy will worriedly. He needed to save the document to finish later, but he didn't want Morgan or Sarah poking around and finding it before he was done. While saving it as something video-game related would've kept Sarah out of it, it would've enticed Morgan. Same with something related to Ellie.

Finally choosing a topic he figured neither of them would be interested in, he saved the file as Awesome's Protein Shake Recipes.

By the time he closed the laptop, he heard another pair of knocks, just as urgent sounding but accomplished with much less force.

"Coming," he finally said, crossing the living room. When he opened the door, Casey nearly swayed in. It was startling, to see the normally proud, tall soldier slumped against the doorjamb. "Whoa, hey, big guy... what...? What's going on? Are you okay?" He paused, quirking an eyebrow. "Are you drunk?"

Casey lifted his head, however, and Chuck could see the swelling on the side of his face, the unfocused look in his eyes.

"You got hit?"

The Marine grunted. "You got a minute? Need to debrief."

"De-debrief?" Chuck asked, opening the door wider and letting Casey in. "Sure, I guess."

Casey was still not-quite-right on his feet and the steps he took into the apartment were somewhat shaky.

"Sit down, big guy. What happened? Do I need to get Sarah?"

He shook his head, which he realized was a mistake, given the way his head was swimming after those blows. Taking a slow breath, he looked up at Chuck. He probably had a very mild concussion, but he knew that the current President was Obama, that his favorite president was Reagan, rest his soul, and that he'd failed pretty miserably in his promise to Chuck. "My mission. The mission you gave me."

Chuck felt his stomach drop to his knees as he numbly sat down across from Casey. "Is this about Ellie?"

Casey caught himself before nodding, grunting affirmatively instead.

"Is she okay?"

"Well... I don't know. When I came to, she was gone."

"When you... when you _came_ _to_?" Chuck asked. "Casey! Casey, what the hell happened!" he demanded, beginning the initial stages of a full-on Bartowski freak-out.

He held up a hand, hoping that Chuck wouldn't reach those decibel levels that only dogs and NSA agents could hear. He had to protect his hearing, after all. "Sit down, Bartowski."

Chuck hesitated, but as Casey looked up at him with the swelling in his face, with the pain his his blue eyes, the Intersect sat back down.

"I don't have much, just a telephone call I intercepted."

"A telephone call?"

Casey reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. While his vision was somewhat blurred, he was able to access the correct file and play the recorded message.

Chuck heard, very clearly, his sister's voice, talking about lying, talking about hiding things... Sneaking around behind everyone's backs. It did little for his piece of mind, hearing the edginess in Ellie's voice. After all, he'd been hiding things from her for three years. Could he really blame her for keeping _something_ from him? One _something_?

"Woodcomb seems to be clueless, not to mention in the finals for the World's Best Husband award." Casey reached up, touching the tender side of his face. "I went to your sister's apartment, to check it out, to see if there was anything more definitive."

"And?" Chuck asked, looking at his hands, picking at something invisible on his pajama pants. He was considerably calmer than he'd been mere moments ago.

"There were no obvious signs of an affair. No new clothes, no odd receipts or other pocket litter. Nothing other than the phone call."

Chuck sighed heavily. "And what about your face?"

"Your sister... was she ever on a t-ball team? Softball?"

"Uh... Random," Chuck said, frowning. "Why?" Realization dawned on his face. "She hit you?"

"With a frying pan."

"Casey!" he said, his voice reaching those high decibels again.

"Noise level, Bartowski," he grunted.

Chuck glanced further into the apartment, but he didn't hear or sense any movement from within the bedrooms.

"She came home early. She was supposed to be at the hospital."

"She found you in the apartment?"

Casey gave a slight nod.

"So, for all intents and purposes, you probably caught her coming home to get ready for an outing with her..." Chuck grimaced before continuing: "boy-toy?"

"I don't know. I can't see your sister behaving that way. As much as it pains me to say this, but Grimes backs it. I think something's going on. Just not sure what."

Chuck stood, pacing in front of the television for a moment, weighing everything Casey had told him. "I can't see her doing something like that either, but..." Chuck visibly blanched. "What if... what if she's figured out everybody's lying to her, Casey? What if she's figured out that we're all keeping things from her, and she's found somebody she feels can be honest with her? Somebody who can talk to her about anything? Because, the rest of us can't. Awesome can't, you can't, I can't..."

"What do you want to do?" asked Casey. "Your op, your call."

"As much as it pains me to say..." Chuck looked at his NSA partner. "Stand down."

"Chuck?"

"Stand down. If Ellie's found... If Ellie's found something that makes her happy, if she's found something like that, something that's not shrouded in cloak-and-dagger, smoke-and-mirror-y-ness, then..." He shrugged. "It's not our place anymore."

Casey narrowed his eyes, remembering well the times-the many times-that Chuck had pulled strings for his family, for Ellie. He remembered acquisition reports for a romantic evening in, complete with rose-petals covering the entirety of the apartment floor, even an expensive catered meal. There'd been the initial wedding fiasco, followed by the exorbitantly priced second wedding. The requisition of two tickets to Paris, complete with lodging arrangements and an activities itinerary. "There are ways, Chuck... Traffic cameras, ATM records..."

"Stand down, Casey. Get some ice. She's made her choices. I've made mine."

End.


End file.
